


Run, Run, Run

by isohalsine



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isohalsine/pseuds/isohalsine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Batman v Superman. Diana and Bruce are running from the pain of [redacted, spoiler, etc] while searching for other metahumans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, Run, Run

It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably, over each other in the gentle parody of song. The days were strung together by the constant beat of the sun, accompanied through the night by the oppressive heat, lacing bodies in a thick sweat, binding sheet and man together like a second skin itching to be shed. It was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything for blaring heat, anything just to feel.

Diana couldn’t distinguish how many days they had spent in that car, eyes staring aimlessly out the window as they passed town after town, stretch after stretch of earth burnt brown with the heat that consumed them. 

They had been sitting in silence for days letting the road speak for them, weaving a complicated conversation between them about everything they’d seen, everything they’d been through over the last month, everything they were. Speed up, I’m sad, slow down, I’m getting tired, a left, a right, are you doing okay? Readjust the mirror, it’s kind of beautiful out here. A tug of the seatbelt, this silence was killing her.

Diana slowed down. She stopped. I can’t do this anymore. He nodded and unbuckled his belt, running a hand through his greying dark hair before stretching his back, freeing it from the burden of the last five hours. He opened the car door. The sound ricocheted between them; it was the first in hours.

Diana turned the mirror so she could see him. We’re being foolish. He didn’t speak, didn’t blink his reply, so she tried again. She could feel the seconds pass, beating dully against her chest. Diana turned to look at him, seeking out the almost comfort buried deep within his eyes. He didn’t look away, he didn’t do anything. He never did anything.

‘What are you running from?’

Diana’s voice was rough, cracked, unused, but his eyes widened with the first recognition she had seen in days.

Diana couldn’t read him.

More seconds, maybe minutes. The heat was stifling; there was the faint tug of a familiar ache teasing at her mind. Still silence. Diana shook her head, turned back to the road.

‘I’m not running’.

She started the engine, okay, you don’t have to tell me. He shut the door; the click went unnoticed. Diana needed a drink, she needed food, but turned back onto the road instead, the sooner they were gone from their little slice of nowhere the better. Silence settled between them again like an old friend. Diana could feel his eyes on her.

‘What are you running from?’

She closed her eyes, slowed down. I’m tired, I’m not running.

It was getting darker, the sky was as burnt as the earth around them. Diana kept her eyes on the road, Bruce kept his eyes on Diana. The road stretched on before them, unaltered by their presence. They stretched on in silence, the magnitude of the moment flittering between them, unspoken, unwanted, understood.

Diana doesn’t remember what day it was. It was the kind of summer where the days all blur together, sliding endlessly, unnoticeably over each other, stretching down road after road after road, as they chase and chase, searching for something different at the end, something more beautiful, for release from the oppressive heat. Searching for solace in the silence, finding each other.

But it was the kind of summer you didn’t want to relive too often, except maybe in the bitter chill of winter where you’d give anything to just feel.


End file.
